


Mamihlapinatapei

by DarkInsanity (Stereklenidus)



Series: HEIMAT: a place that you can call home. [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Jordan Parrish, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, BAMF Lydia Martin, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Minor Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish, Non-Human Jordan Parrish, Omega Lydia Martin, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Rating: M, Slow Romance, Stiles-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-14 06:38:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11777547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stereklenidus/pseuds/DarkInsanity
Summary: Mamihlapinatapei(Yagan, an indigenous language of Tierra del Fuego): The wordless yet meaningful look shared by two people who desire to initiate something but are both reluctant to start.Derek tries to teach Stiles romance.





	1. What is romance

**Author's Note:**

> A long wait ends. Took me forever to write this chapter.  
> This fic will be mild and show Stiles and Derek's growing interest as you already can guess from the chapter name.  
> Hope you love reading as much as I love writing this.  
> And there are no triggers or warning in this part of the fic.  
> Stiles and Derek will be the willing participants in everything. 
> 
>  
> 
> All mistakes are mine.

 

Thick drapes covered the large bay window, but the bright, artificial light from the bathroom found a crack to sneak in through, bathing the room in merely a soft glow.

Stiles blinked open heavy eyes, letting them flutter several times before taking in his surroundings: a mahogany dresser in the corner, a hall off to the right, crown moldings along the ceiling contrasting the dark walls. He didn’t recognize a single thing. This wasn’t his house and it wasn’t the hotel room he’d been staying in the past week while vacationing in New York. The memory of his location tugged at the back of his mind, but the overwhelming need to sleep was almost enough to make him forget.

Stiles was curled up on top of a plush mattress with a thick comforter cocooning him above the soft sheets; at least a thousand thread count if he had to guess. As Stiles cuddled in, the Alpha squeezed the muscular arm draped over his mid section and he finally adjusting to his disorientation.

Unconsciously he brought Stiles closer, pulling him back flush against the hard chest. His chin rested on Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles could feel the soft, subtle breaths breeze the side of his neck. God he felt good.

Always did. Stiles wanted his lover to hold him forever. He was Stiles' everything.

Stiles closed his eyes thinking nothing in his life seemed to matter; at least not when his lover was around. When Stiles stepped away, he could see his insanity for what it was, unhealthy and ideological, but when they were together, all of that went away. Poof. This lover gave Stiles exactly what he needed, the chance to be himself, to embrace his darkest thoughts without guilt or remorse. He made Stiles feel normal, though he was still sane enough to see nothing they did was normal.

With him, it was always like a dream. Like he was hovering above watching himself do every crazy, wild thing he ever thought of doing without fear of the repercussions.

It was like a dream...

A dream.

Abruptly Stiles’ eyes sprang open wide in the darkness, his lips part on a rush of air, chest spasming for breath as his fangs sliced out of the gum. Hunger surged making his throat throb and reality collided with his consciousness so sudden, waking the hell out of him.

Stiles felt a muscular arm draped over his mid section, just like in his dream. It tightened around him bringing him close to the hard pecs of his tormentor’s chest—Derek, the Alpha.

Breathing in once, twice, thrice, an attempt to calm his nerves, Stiles rolled to his back, hoping to leave without Derek waking, but Derek’s arm was still heavy on top of him. Stiles began to slide with gentle ease toward the edge of the nest, bit by bit, when the Alpha suddenly stirred. He froze, holding his breath, careful not to move a muscle.

After a minute of lying still, he attempted his escape once again, sliding further to the side, letting his left leg fall silently off the edge of the nest. As he braced himself to sit up, Derek moved again, this time from his side to his back, taking his arm with him. It now rested on the hard ridges of his abdomen, right above the edge of the obscenely low lying comforter.

Stiles couldn’t help but take a minute to ogle the Alpha’s beautiful body as he gingerly sat up. In his nude, sleeping state, Derek looked exactly as you would expect of a hardened criminal: bulging biceps, unruly hair, a little more than a five o’clock shadow, and glyphs gracing most of his upper half. If Stiles tried to hear more carefully, concentrate on smaller things, then his senses homed in on the serine lub _-dub_ of Derek’s heartbeat. His gaze flitted up Derek’s torso to his throat where Stiles’ eyes narrowed, focusing on the pulse beating under the golden skin.

Grinding the morals, Stiles tried to push the hunger back with a hard swallow and licked his lips wondering...

When Derek was clothed, he looked different, like an honourable soldier, but it was more the glint of evil in his pale green eyes that elicited fear instead of his daunting physical features. Stiles had firsthand experience. But with his eyes closed now, he looked so peaceful that it was baffling.

Stiles knew nothing about the Alpha but had memorized every inch of that body, the random placement of scars, the smoothness of the skin. And knew how every inch of him tasted. None of the attention was out of affection; Stiles thought with anguish, it was just part of some biological spell. Though his tongue might lick the man flesh in those moments of sheer physical need to feel the Alpha anywhere and everywhere possible, Stiles never once returned any kisses Derek tried to press against his mouth.

That was one thing he couldn't take and couldn't force on Stiles.

Pushing himself off the bed, Stiles immediately felt the soreness between his legs. It seemed impossible he had initially missed that and while it hurt, it felt like Derek was still inside of him somehow. And he hated it, hated himself every time the Alpha coerced him to softly breathless murmur of his name in the dark, or reached out a hand to stroke the bulge of muscle.

Derek could call it whatever he wanted—animal impulse, the compulsion of their biology or necessity of the bond—to Stiles, it was molestation. Rape.

Tears welled in his eyes, but he blinked them back with a grim set of his jaw. He made the decision of coming to the Alpha’s lair, he wasn’t going to cry about it. How foolish and far-fetched his plans may seem now, he’d to take some control back.

Stiles pursed his lips in annoyance thinking about Derek’s purr. The _damned_ purr of his. The Alpha exercised it expertly when he paced in frustration or fussed.

Stiles dipped his head forward balling his hands in his lap. Time became irrelevant. He was not even sure how long he had been underground if it had been days or weeks. Anytime he wanted to know the hour he had to ask, and it eventually grew confusing. Night was day, day was night—everything was turned around. Even the arrival of meals followed no set pattern, though he was never hungry for long. Derek was feeding him so much, in fact, it seemed sacrilegious when Stiles could not always empty the plate. The man was fattening him up.

Lifting his head, Stiles rubbed his forehead in distress, wondering how random things arrived in the room for use: products for the hair, a brush, knee-length tunics and sweaters—worn only by the elite Omega’s housed at the warmer levels nearest the top of the Dome—but no shoes or underwear or pants.

When Derek would leave their room, for doing whatever he did, Stiles slept and almost the instant he woke as the Alpha returned. It was odd—like Derek knew—like he felt Stiles’ cycles on receiving side of the thread. And always, before words were spoken, he took off his clothing, came to the bed, and lay with Stiles.

Sliding out of the nest, Stiles sat on his naked butt on the cold floor, drawing his knees to his chest, curling his arms around his legs, head dipped in the gap with eyes closed. A shiver run down his spine as he tried to remember the dream, the arm of his lost lover, felt eerily familiar to that of Derek’s, yet something was different. Moreover, why in his dream did he imagine being in a motel in New York. As much it was known to him, New York was a Vampire nation with huge synthetic blood producing factories.

Speaking of Vampires and blood, Stiles looked over at Derek contemplating with his hunger. Should he. Or should he not. He could ask for some. The vein cord on Derek’ neck looked ripe with blood and the pulse beneath the skin beating steadily looked delicious. But Stiles knew asks meant talk and remembered the time he had attempted to talk.

Lying spread on top of Derek, not knowing the hour or day of the week, Stiles felt the anchor of the knot locked inside him and suddenly began to weep as if his heart was breaking.

With his hand stroking Stiles’ hair, Derek hummed, in a half-asleep, "Why are you crying, little one?" Stiles was crying because he was killing him. Derek again hushed him and wiped the tears that continued to fall. "What would please you?"

"I want to go outside," he mumbles on a sniffle against his chest, so very tired of those four concrete walls. "I need to see the sky."

There was no answer for a moment, only the sound of their breathing before Derek took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling under Stiles’ cheek, as if he had come to some conclusion. "Once you have become more settled in your new life it may be allowed on occasion, but only under escort and only if you have a bellyful of my seed to scent you." He murmured quietly.

So Stiles was expected to carry his cubs just to leave the room. The exploitation was not missed. His tears dried up instantly and his usual distracted dejection made the little string buzz out of tune. "I have done nothing wrong, and you have trapped me in prison." Stiles griped.

Derek traced the line of Stiles’ spine as he considered the opinion of _prison._ "It isn't safe for you outside this room."

Stiles released a huff of disdain and muttered, "Beacon Hills is unsafe because you made it that way."

He hummed finger running through Stiles’ dark brown hair. "That is true."

Eyebrow furrowing in exasperation Stiles muttered. "You're insane." It was insane to hear the Alpha admit it, like he knew what he was doing, of course, he knew what he was doing and had no ounce of regret about it. As if killing innocent people was his part time job. He sounded like a sociopath to Stiles’ ears.

Stiles felt a bit of a rumbling chuckle against his cheek as Derek palmed his ass. "You have not been this conversational in some time."

The knot was slowly beginning to loosen, his seed spilling out as the barrier receded. Feeling the gratuitous amount of fluid drip from the womb, Stiles drummed his fingers on Derek’s barrel chest. "If I start talking, you throw me on the bed. What's the point?"

"I only quiet you when you fret."

"Like I said... crazy."

"Resisting is pointless," Derek murmured softly, stroking Stiles’ back to quietness when he seemed eager to wiggle away. Resigned, Stiles stilled and was rewarded with a purr, certain the man was trying to train him like some dog. "You will find, in time, that the arrangement will naturally grow on you, little one," Derek spoke as if he knew, as if it was absolute. "Exercise patience."

Defiant, Stiles growled against his naked chest, "My name is Stiles."

Derek smacked him backside hard enough to sting. Stiles’ head flew up, eyes narrowing as his mouth twisted in disgust. Derek chuckled at that, the sound masculine, and musical, and thoroughly entertained. Another thing Stiles hated about him.

"Don't spank me like a child!" he grated.

Derek bent his other arm under his head lifting it up, and bringing his pale green eyes twinkling with playfulness, in Stiles’ line of sight as he refuted, "If you act like one, I will answer accordingly."

Stiles heaved a resigned sigh as his thoughts came back to present and he put my face in his hands.  Then he remembered the other time when he and Derek tried to talk and it was even a bigger disaster.

They were having their dinner, it was a four-course meal of seafood and steak, salad and some other things Stiles couldn’t even begin to name.

There was even caviar on the table. Gross. Stiles was stuffed by the third course but he didn’t decline dessert, savoring the rich chocolate soufflé. Derek ignored his, instead of sipping water.

Stiles even had a warm bottle of blood mead for that night and Derek had kept his glass full.

Stiles' head was fuzzy after consuming more than half of the bottle and his body felt like it was made of air, his fingertips tingling with sparks of magic. Blood did that to him and his magic. He devoured every single drop and then he was floating sky high.

He never wanted to touch the ground again.

"Is it good?" Derek asked, watching him intently. And Stiles was too intoxicated for the attention to fluster him anymore.

"Amazing," he replied. "Best soufflé I've ever had."

"Have you had many before?"

"Nope. Never."

Derek smirked, pushing his plate across the table toward him. "You can have mine, too."

"Not gonna have."

"Full?"

"More like it might be poisoned."

Stiles was joking, of course, but he shrugged a shoulder like he really thought it was a possibility.

Derek’s expression shifted, all amusement dying away. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing, his nostrils flaring as he regarded Stiles with an anger that made his blood run cold. And before Stiles could comprehend what happened, Derek got to his feet, snatched a hold on the table cloth and flung it along with the plates, the wine bottle and other bowls from the table. And then as he stormed out of the room, Stiles wanted nothing more than to slink away, disappear into the cool floor and never again resurface.

Stiles was so immersed in his thoughts, that he didn’t realise when the Alpha woke up behind him until a gruff voice spoke into his ear. “Hello.”

Startled, his head flew up and the backside hit Derek’s face. _Thunk!_ The impact was forceful enough for them both to groan aloud and stars began to dance behind Stiles close eyes darkness. As if his brain had collided with the skull. He haphazardly and blindly whirled around massaging the pain away. When he was able to find some balance and the throbbing around his head became bearable enough, he squinted his eyes open and saw Derek rubbing his forehead. His face was twisted in a grimace and for some reason, he looked so not like a savage barbarian, that Stiles couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled in his throat and spluttered out. “Oh my god. Oh god. I’m so sorry.” He choked out and scrambled inside the neat and pushed Derek’s hand away. “I hope I didn’t hurt you. God this not funny at all.” He asked though his mirth and brushed his palm across the Alpha’s forehead as if he could dust the pain away. “You fault though so don’t blame me. You total caught me off guard. Such a creep. I almost had a...” he abruptly stopped blabbering when his eyes landed on Derek’s and the look in there was enough to scramble his brain. There was nothing threatening, which was the major fuck up. Stiles wanted the warning look; it was much easy to survive than the amusement that glinted in those pale green eyes. The way those lips, which had made several attempts to kiss Stiles, were twitching made his heart trip and fall. It was a disaster Stiles knew. When Derek grabbed his hand pulling away from his face, he knew he was in danger. Then when Derek ran his finger down Stiles’ cheek, he knew things were about to change pretty soon. He looked younger and older all at the same time—giving Stiles a glimpse of genuineness below the rough exterior.

“I don’t blame you for anything.” Derek murmured. His voice was low and husky. “But that bash at least woke me up.”

Stiles' heart hammered in his chest as his mouth watered  _again_  at the thought of drinking Derek’s pure breed, strong, veril Alpha blood. The warnings in his head were a shout in the wind, swallowed up in the atmosphere.

His fangs prepared to come  _out_  and he forced them back. The pain bit into his gums, and tears filled his eyes making his ambers glint in the flickering soft glow of the room.

Stiles looked away. And maybe this was the first time when he took his hand away, there was no violence. Just a mild tug and Derek let go of him.

Stiles’ breathing fumbled as he closed his eyes tight and fought his hunger. The predator in him wanted use allure, seduction to lure the Alpha and then sinks his fangs into that blood rich vein in his throat.

And while Stiles was thinking all this, he was pretty much away of Derek watching him, trying to understand, readying himself for a verbal assault. Derek’s muscles went taut in hopes of earning himself a punch but a strange noise drew his brows together. It was a light sniff and an almost inaudible sob. As if Stiles was trying really hard not to cry.

Derek cupped his chin with his hand, tilting his face so Stiles had no choice but to look him in the eyes. A thumb swept along Stiles’ bottom lip, and he let out a shuddering breath as Derek leaned closer, tilting his head like he was going to kiss him, but he paused there instead.

Derek gaze burned through him, seeping down into his soul, seizing him like a prisoner. “Something bothering you?”

Stiles hesitated as he licked his dry lips and swallowed hard.

“Talk to me.” Derek insisted.

Stiles instantly felt the soothing hum vibrating through their mate bond. It was maddening sometimes, but right now as it was supposed to, eased some of Stiles’ anxiety encouraging him to speak. “I’m thirsty.”

Derek’s knitted eyebrows relaxed as if he understood what Stiles meant and without any hesitation, he released Stile’s jaw and held out his wrist. “Have from me.” He offered.

Stiles' neck recoiled over his shoulder, his eyes grew wide and flew from the wide blue veined wrist of the Alpha’s to his face. Stiles shook his head. “NO! It’s not that. I can’t have your blood.” He tried to explain, his expression beseeching. “I mean I can but it’s more about how I’m having it and how I’m leaving.” His hand trembled and waves around the room. “I’m a witch too. I’m a traditional witch. I need nature. I need the moon. I need water. I need fresh air. I need a magic grid. I need crystals.” He scratched the back of his hand, on the wolf glyph, a light unconscious gesture that drew Derek’s sharp gaze. “I just I need nature. I need to feel the spirits.”

“What will happen if you don’t come in contact?”

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll lose my magic and turn into a full fledged Vampire.”

Derek's hand dropped as he pulled a deep breath, his expression became thoughtful. Stiles knew what was going through his head. It was easy to figure out. If he transformed into a full-fledged Vampire, Derek would have no use of him. Vampires couldn’t reproduce, they shared blood and multiplied. Stiles would lose fertility. He wouldn’t remain an Omega. He would become a monster, not that Derek and his gang of goons were any else of a monster themselves, but Vampires were completely different spices and far different from humans and werewolves.

"You chose to enter the Citadel.” Derek murmured eventually.

“But...”

He snapped his fingers and held up his index. “Let me speak first. You exposed yourself at great risk. You must have known you would never be allowed to return once I knew what you were."

"I was hoping a man known as _The True Alpha_ would have honor," Stiles grudgingly admitted.

In a voice almost lazy, Derek replied, "And I did the honorable thing, did I not? I fought a mob and saved you from violent rape. I gave you a choice. You chose me and I claimed you. Since then, you have been protected and cared for while others suffer under the Dome."

"A choice?" Stiles practically choked on the word. "You mate-bonded to me without even courting me first! There was no choice."

Dark eyebrows quirked up on those pale green eyes. "You wish me to court you?" He seemed intrigued.

The brute totally missed the point, completely disregarding Stiles concerns. Groaning in frustration, Stiles flopped back onto the mattress. _Goddess of everything holy help me!_

He pulled the quilt up under his chin and slid one hand behind his head staring at the ceiling as he tried to ignore the damned hum in his chest. His mild whirled with plans, now that he was lucid enough to do so and that Derek seemed to be a good mood. Outside of sex and everything that happened between them, Stiles had come here for different a reason. And fighting with the Alpha wouldn’t help his cause. He would have to melt his heart. “You know the only thing you’re good at is sex. That’s all.” He said trying to test the water.

“I would take that as a compliment because my mate seems quite a sexual person.” Stiles could hear laughter in his voice, and it made him grind his teeth.

“Give me a break.” Stiles hoped he didn’t sound as defensive or guilty as he felt. “I’m not that dumb.”

Derek made a noncommittal noise.

“You have a cold heart,” Stiles accused.

Derek raised his eyebrow higher and gave him a smoldering look that took his breath.

“Derek,” Stiles sighed, his heart tripping over itself. It was the first time he had utter the Alpha’s name.

Immediately his face altered. “Yes, Stiles?” he said very matter-of-factly.

Stiles stared at him, so cool and in control. The man was going to make him crazy.

“A cold heart,” he repeated.

Again Derek smiled with enough heat to scorch paper. “Me?” He was all innocence. He slid beside Stiles, propped up on an elbow and his other hand draped over Stiles’ stomach. “Now why is that?”

Stiles had to clear his throat before he could answer. This time he was unemotional enough, at least on the surface. “Yes, you. You have no sense of the romantic.”

 “Romantic huh?”

“Yes. A mate should be romantic. Not a knot-head brute like you. With only a single aim to fuck and breed. As if that is all I’m to you. A breeding machine.”

Derek hummed as he took Stiles hand and kiss on the back of the palm. “Is this romantic enough?” The words pretended to be jovial, but the tone… It wasn’t.

Something tugged in Stiles’ stomach, stronger than the tug in his heart. His scalp prickled with intensity and the high ceiling room, with its quiet humming of a rotating ceiling fan, filled with stagnant awareness.

Stiles swallowed, cursing the skip in his racing heart.

“A kiss on the palm is curtsey, not romance.” He managed to say, hoping the slight rasp in his voice went undetected.

“The problem could easily be solved if you’d let me kiss you.” Derek’s voice whispered around him—a trap that he doubted he’d get free from.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles turned his head on the pillow to look up at the Alpha. “Why kiss. We share more intimate acts with each other.”

With the languid look and a small smile, Derek answered. “A kiss is the very first step of romanticism. It speaks of passion and need. Without kissing involved sex becomes mechanical, like we are doing it just for the heck of it. Like animals.” He paused breathing a puff of air, his chest flexes as he did so and reach up fingers caressing down Stiles’ cheek. “I don’t mind fucking like animals, but I’d like to experience passion with my mate. If you’ll allow me, I can teach you how to be romantic.”


	2. Chapter 2

"Derek’s genetic markers do not match any prisoner on record. I am telling you," Captain Lydia Martin voice was adamant as she followed Parrish inside his apartment and threw her bag on the couch. "he was not incarcerated in the Undercroft." Her voice followed him as he made his walked across the living room.

 

Parrish rolled his shoulder as he wander into the kitchen working out some of the stiffness on a slight wince. He had heard a thousand explanations; not one of them was possible. Outside the Dome spread one hundred kilometers of frozen tundra in every direction, the location of Beacon Hills chosen specifically so any potential diseased wanderers could never survive approach. Everything inside was self-sustaining, and only twice in his lifetime had shuttles been permitted to land. All on board had been Omegas, citizens from other biospheres invited to Beacon Hills Dome to keep the gene pool fresh.

 

 Those who came never left, just as those who had left to serve the same duty on foreign soil would never return.

 

 Scans for all new arrivals were vigorous; there was no way any unexpected life-form could have passed the gates. Even so, the last exchange had been only a decade ago during Deucalion was the Prime Alpha.

 

 Parrish’ brow was furrowed. It wasn’t until he saw it so tightly drawn in his reflection that he realized he had dark circles under his eyes from all the late nights he was pulling lately and was emoting at all. Dissatisfied with how he looked, he stepped away from the microwave running his fingers though hair. He crossed to counter, collected two glasses, and made his way back to the living room.

 

 He found Lydia sitting on the floor with her Laptop on and she had already fetched the ice tub for them. The few grainy pictures he had seen of the man said differently, Parrish thought as his eyes rover over his wife’s beautiful face. God their work was killing their marriage. He can’t even remember when was the last time they have had sex.

 

 "The man is covered in Glyphs.” He said as he set the glasses on the coffee table. “He was branded by the gangs in the Undercroft...” In a crouch, he drew out the whiskey bottle from under the table. “...and labored down there long enough to organize outcasts into an army...” Straightening up he undid the top button of his uniform. “...to have constructed numerous tunnels that had gone unnoticed all throughout Beacon Hills."

 

 Lydia’s eyebrow jerked up in confusion. “Then why he doesn't exist on record."

 

 Corruption was a disease even the Dome could not filter out. Jaw rigid, Parrish sat beside her on the carpeted floor flopping back against the couch. "Because someone threw him down there _off record_."

 

 Lydia turned at an angel to face him, leaning her shoulder on the couch, and folding her legs beneath her. "If that was the case, others would have known.” She frowned. “You can't just march down those tunnels dragging a man behind you; the security protocols alone would have been logged. If a soul had gone missing, people would have noticed. What you suggest would require a conspiracy of epic proportions."

 

 “I suggest now that you should turn your mind off when we are at home.” Parrish snaked his arm around her slim waist and pulled her on his lap. He smelled gunpowder and her heady vanilla rose scent beneath that.

 

 “I could if Brigadier hadn’t give me the picture—”

 

 “Fuck the Brigadier.” With his free hand, he tucked her copper tendrils behind her ears. “He hardly likes me so I again suggest you start unlinking him too.”

 

 “Its not about liking him. It’s about my objective.” Lydia sighed and as he cupped her cheek, she leaned into his touch. “This is important for me, you know.”

 

 “I know baby.” He reached out and undid the first three buttons of her uniform, revealing the voluptuous swell of her breasts, nearly spilling from the rounded cups of her black bar. “But you need to rest. You need to take care of yourself.”

 

 Parrish can’t even remember the last time his Omega wife had her heat. He did not want to sound like a pig but how long did she expect an Alpha to go without rutting. God his cock ached in agony when he jerked off in the shower.

 

 “I can’t until I find out who killed Allison.” she murmured in the low throaty voice which brought to mind tumbled bed sheets.

 

 Never one to miss an opportunity, Parrish cupped the upper swell with his hands, gratified to hear the sharp hiss of her breath through her teeth. Squeezing and kneading, he stared at the valley between her breasts and imagined thrusting his cock through it. He growled at the thought and looked up at her mouth, watching in an agony of lust as she licked her lower lip.

 

 “I know how you feel but think about your poor Alpha.” He looked in her hazel eyes hopping she could see his angst, while every fiber of his being stood tense and expectant. “I’ve chaffed my cock using my hands.”

 

 Lydia’s hands slide down from his shoulders as she dragged them up and down on his chest. “I know handsome. I’m not being a good Omega and taking care of your needs.” Sadness etched the corners of her mouth and Parrish studied her, noting the dark circles that rimmed her eyes. “Believe me I want this to be over too. If it’s Derek the True Alpha then I’m going to bring him down. Then I...” Her eyes lowered, long lashes fluttering over her cheekbones as she blinked. “Then I plan to take an early retirement for good.”

 

 His hands left her breast and plunged into her hair, tilting her head to the angle he desired.

 

 Then he kissed her. Hard.

 

 Lydia’s nails dug deeply into the skin of his stomach as she clutched at his shirt. Her mouth was open, accepting the thrusts of his tongue. Despite the lack of finesse, she trembled against him, whimpered her distress, and then melted into his embrace. She kissed him back with a frenzy that nearly undid him.

 

 Suddenly unable to breathe, Parrish broke away. His forehead pressed to hers, he groaned his frustration. “I don’t want you to retire. Not for me. Nor do I want to be the reason behind you giving up your passion.” She was an exceptional analyst and he couldn’t take that from her. He didn’t want to.

 

 “And what about you?” Lydia pulled away and gently poked in his sore shoulder. “I nearly lost you remember.”

 

 It was during Follower’s second attack where one bullet shattered his shoulder and another graze his stomach.

 

 “Jesus, you are stubborn.” Nuzzling against her without gentleness, he rubbed the scent of her onto his damp skin while leaving his own sweat upon her cheek. With a rough and urgent voice he whispered, “I need you to follow my instructions when I give them to you. You wouldn’t like if I die of blue ball would you.”

 

 “I trust your judgment,” she purred.

 

 His balls contracted. Went full and heavy. His fists clenching in her hair until she winced. “Do you?”

 

 The air thickened around them.

 

 “Do you?” he asked again. “Don’t you feel empty without my knot inside you? Filling you up with my seeds.”

 

 Someone cleared their voice and Kira’s voice floated in. “Err PG-13 guys?”

 

 They both went still for a moment before Parrish brushed his mouth across Lydia and felt her sigh against his lips. He nibbled gently. “Button your shirt.”

 

 Lydia’s hands were already working on as she nodded and slid down his body turning around and her laptop came into Parrish’s view, where a flushed face Kira was giving them an embarrassed smile.

 

 Parrish couldn’t stop his scowl. “Did you hack in?”

 

 Kira blinked owlish at him before Lydia shifted forward nudging him back. “I was online.” She looked at Kira with an impish smile. “You got what I wanted?”

 

 “First, please don’t put me in this situation again, Lydia.” Kira took a deep breath before fanning her face and rolling her shoulder as if to compose herself. “I’m already avoiding Scott for a month now, if I see this I don’t think I can keep myself celibate anymore.”

 

 Parrish rolled his eyes. Why Omega’s even had the urge for celibacy was beyond him.

 

 Lydia laughed. “Why would you do that with him?”

 

 Parrish let out a breath in an audible rush. His entire frame sagged against the couch, the tension releasing its merciless grip. Damnit all to hell.

 

 “Why! You are asking me Why?” Kira asked incredulously. “You tell me how will you react if Parrish comes home smelling like other Omega’s every day.”

 

Lydia glanced at him seizing him up and down. Parrish quirked a brow at her at that. She nodded with empathy. “I would scrub him raw and then...” she trailed off, mischief brightening her gaze before they returned to the laptop. “ But when you both started of you knew Scott was posted at Omega camp right?”

 

 “I thought he was a soldier.”

 

“He is an army doctor.”

 

 “Who works in the Omega relief camp?” Kira’s lips set a grim line. “You wouldn’t know if you weren’t in my place, Lydia. How hard it is to not feel jealous.”

 

 “Oh come on cheer up. You know Scott would never cheat on you.”

 

"Won’t he. These Alpha... Sorry Parrish not to disrespect you but it’s the truth. They all are knotted headed bastards who can only think with their dicks.”

 

 Parrish snorted. He wouldn’t object to that. Right now, his dick really needed some serious kind of attention and it was thoroughly getting cockblocked.

 

 Lydia collapsed against the sofa in a fit of laughter. “Oh hell, Kira seriously.”

 

 Kira scoffed. “Yes but never mind. I got something on this boy named Gemin Stilinski from Scott’s folder.”

 

 Lydia composed herself at once and narrowed her eyes. “What about him?”

 

 “This boy left the camp about two months ago and never came back.”

 

 That got Parrish’s attention too as he leaned forward. “What do you mean he disappeared? We didn’t get any missing report from Scott’s camp.”

 

 Lydia looked at him in surprise. “You didn’t? How’s that possible. The camp authorities should have informed the base if any Omega went missing.”

 

 “That’s what I thought.” Kira agreed. “Scott doesn’t know much because he was sent to the city camp and this boy was kept in the preserve.”

 

 Parrish began, “But for that—”

 

 “The boy had to be an Extreme cases.” Lydia finished for him.

 

“Yes that’s what the records say.” Kira put in. In the screen, they both watched her fetch a black file and open it.

 

 “It’s Classified.” Lydia gasped obviously noting the color of the file.

 

Parrish’s libido vanished completely and his blood pressure went up. When you see civilian school teacher fiddling which is marked as government top-secret it’s bound to happen.

 

“Really!” Kira turned the cover for a glance then she peered at Parrish and Lydia biting on her lips. “Why would Scott have this file?”

 

Lips set grimly, Lydia gave Parrish a meaningful sideways glance.

 

Parrish understood what his wife was thinking and looked at their mutual friend forcing out a smile. “I don’t think Scott has figured it out yet.”

 

 “Oh.” Kira looked skeptical, unconvinced and peered down at the file brows furrowing. "What if he is in some trouble?"

 

 “Kira don’t think too hard, it’s probably nothing.” She nudged him to back her up.

 

 “Kira.” Parrish called using his calm Alpha voice. “Look at me.”

 

 Kira did as asked and look up, her lips quivered softly. Parrish could tell the Omega’s mind was running fast and hard forming unpleasant ideas. He wanted to purr feeling Lydia’s turmoil in their mate-link, at her friends distress, but he preferred privacy for that so he took Lydia’s hand, his thumb brushed over the pulse at her wrist and it leapt to match his own quickened heartbeat.

 

 Parrish bit back the purr that bubbled in his throat and cleared it. As he spoke, his voice sounded deeper. “Kira, I promise Scott is safe. I’ll talk to him if necessary. You don’t have to worry.”

 

Her shoulders sagged as she nodded slowly.

 

He squeezed his wife’s fingers. “Okay now that clear, tell me what’s there in the file.”

 

“Yeah, okay.” Kira sighed and reopened the file. “It says. Gemin Stilinski. DOB 29th Feb 1993. Male Omega. Unmated. Born Human Witch turned Halfling Vampire.”

 

Alarmed rang in Parrish’s mind and he saw the same happen with his wife.

 

“That is not possible.” Lydia voiced his shock looking back at the screen.

 

“Yes.” Kira agreed setting the file aside. “Because all the babies born that year were either shuttled to Gaskin Hills Dome or died due to the virus.”

 

“Parrish.” Lydia turned her fretful eyes on him. “And if he is a Halfling don’t you think they would have shuttled him to New York?”

 

New York and Beacon Hills was the only two Domes that had direct continuous causeway shuttle though out the year. Something didn’t fit. Or someone had messed with the reconds.

 

His nostrils flared on a deep breath, his frame taut beside Lydia. “Listen.” He focused on Kira. “You won’t share this with anyone. You don’t have this life, never seen, know nothing about. Okay Kira.”

 

Kira nodded obediently. That sweet, innocent look was after a Alpha’s heart. Gods Scott was one lucky fella.

 

Running an agitated hand through his hair, Parrish was silent for a moment before shaking his head. “Damnit who could have done this?”

 

“And why most important?” Lydia added and squeezed his fingers, giving Kira a meaningful look. “You stay out of this. If Scott hasn’t figured it out yet, let him not. Parrish and I’ll have a talk with Brigadier...”

 

“NO!” He growled low in his throat. Both the Omega’s seemed shocked as they gaped at him. Parrish breathed in deeply seeking for control. “I’ll talk with Senator Kali. You...” He pointed at Kira then at his wife. “You too stay out—” Lydia went to protest. “No Lydia, listen to me. This is not a murder mystery you’re solving here.”

 

Parrish knew he should not have said that as her mouth snapped shout. She stared up at him, so tiny and delicate, yet formidable in her fury. “Fine.” She snapped and sharply looked back at Kira. “Do as Alpha Parrish says and stay out of trouble. I’m going to bed.” With that, she stood up and strode out off the room.

 

“You shouldn’t have said that.” The devil’s advocate murmured from the laptop’s screen pulling Parrish’s eyes from where they followed his wife.

 

“I know,” He sighed and shook his head. “Anyway, you don’t go looking for trouble, okay.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good night.”

 

“Night, Parrish.”

 

She logged off. On a sigh, Parrish gathered the glasses and whiskey bottle and went in on hunt for his wife. “Lydia!”

 

“DON’T TALK TO ME!” The bedroom door slammed shut loud and hard.

 

Parrish winced. Or it was his dick winced missing out the chance for another night.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a week later at least; Stiles thought it was a week, when he woke up to in a dusky darkness, completely naked and completely disorientated. It took him a few moments to gather himself bearings and when he did, he got a feeling. He was in a world of my own, trying to figure out too much, when he realized his palm was stroking his nape. The small hairs were dancing wildly under his touch, tingling, making his skin buzz.

 

Magic!

 

The word struck him like a snap of a whip fully waking him up. His heart picked up it pace.

 

The lack of bright light sharpened  _his_  other  _senses_. Then curiosity had him gazing around the room for his Alpha and the said Alpha nowhere in sight as usual.

 

Rubbing the sleep away from his eyes, Stiles climbed out of his nest and set about pulling on a tunic, then switched on the light. The moment the glow flashed around the room, his gaze lands on things that made his heart skip too many beat as he gasp.

 

Stiles couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Two very old looking leather books, a 4” tall bonsai, a bowl of what could be fresh water and wooden jewellery box

 

As if sensing him, came a response though the tether Stiles shared with the Alpha. The slight tug of concern had him puff out an exasperated sigh.

Stiles let Derek feel the need for privacy, for a measure of the

independence he was used to. In return, he felt the rumble of Derek’s discontent, but at least Derek didn't seem to be on the verge of charging after him. Closing the link, Stiles congratulated himself on winning a small skirmish in his war for independence before crossing the little distance and crouching in front of things what he was sure were classic tools of a witch.

Befundled, his ass landed on the old floor as he cross his legs to sit more comfortably.  He could feel  _his_  pulse rate quicken as  _his breathing_  sharpened. Very few things made him this nervous these days, but he was all nerves.  _His excitement level_  was through the roof; he could not recall the last time he had been this elated.

 

Stiles tried to control his energy though tensing his chest as his hands, little shaky, reached out. The new things were like a magnet. He could feel a certain kind of aura lingering around them. He wasn’t sure what they were, but whatever they were, they had a feel good factor.

 

Just to check, just to make use, he first thing he wanted to touch was the open glass bowl as he called upon his magic and waved his fingers over the bowl, that were now tingling with sparks of magic.

 

Stiles had already guessed, what water it was and he wasn’t proved wrong when a blue-ish mist appeared creating ripples and releasing mild ozonic smell. _Charged Rain Water_. His noise tricked. And a grin he couldn’t stop broke his awe-struck expression.

 

Pulling his hand back, he curled it in his lap as he greedy eyes darted from, the books, to the bonsai and to the wooden box. He couldn’t decide what he wanted to see next. Excitement was making his heart pitter-patter. He felt wasting time would make him feel madder so he picked up the box. It felt heave. Stiles brought it to his ear and shook it.

He could not hear anything but he did smell the energy that was hiding beneath the lid. It smelled like wine, apple and apricots, cherry blossom—and few other he couldn’t recognized but he knew he had smelled them before. It smelled of good and pure magic.

 

Even though his heart fluttered to send a shiver down his body, Stiles brought the box under his line of sight and slowly lifted the lid. The feeling was instant and he wasn’t even half way though. He squirmed setting the box on the floor and open the box. His eyes glowed with awe when he saw seven different types of crystals. Not tumbled stone, the one like his pendent but real fucking crystals. And packed together their aura was too much. It felt a bit strange. Not once did he feel scared or threatened. Instead, he felt safe, at peace, but at the same time, excited. It confused him for a while until he felt a strong wave of light energy roll over him, making his skin tingle.

 

Ah, positive vibration of the crystals. They were recently charge with good and pure intention, which made him sense of peace when he woke up and the excitement, too. What else could it be? And a witch like himself, he was glutton for everything that was pure. That was why, he could fought back, enough not to let the darkness of vampirism take over him, leaving him suspended between a grey area of a halfling. His thirst for blood was compelling but it never muddled with his consciousness. He would ask, beg even, but never kill.

 

Taking a deep breath, Stiles saw the arrangements of the crystals. Small partion seperared each of the six, except for the first two. He  picked up the transparent and the blue on one and saw a small strip of paper with an written inscription: _I’m_ _BlueDruzy with Clear_ _Quartz of hope, strength and protection. Quartz  the master of master and I, the bringer of light, we fight alongside to wade away all your fright. Talk to us, when you do not want to feel any fear. Believe in yourself. Thus believe in our power._

 

As he read it, he would not lie when he felt the crystals talk to him. Whispering the words he was reading. Its made Stiles blink few times and look at the crystal. “Hello Druzy and Quartz. I’m Stiles.”  He mumbled under the breath and rolled it in his palm, feeling the rough edges. The stone tingled under him fingers making his halt and curled his fingers around it. Tendrils of soothing cool fire ignited from his fingertips, racing back and forth along his arms, prompting all his Sigils to glow. Stiles wanted to gasp, but he didn’t too enthralled and busy keeping his thoughts light and peaceful, not for once, trying to bring up all the up helves he had been facing lately.

 

After that first strong wave, Stiles found that by concentration only he could feel other, more gentler waves, rolling lazily through his body.

 

Carefully returning the crystals in their place, Stiles processed to check the other, each crystals had their own little introduction. He picked up _Amethyst_ , a crystal in beautiful purplish shade and when he concentrated, he felt its offensive aura of protection. Then came the crystal of healing and bonding with nature, _Gaia_ named after Goddess Mother Earth. Then he chose moonstone as the name reflected was associated with the moon and Omega qualities and the goddess Diana _._ Soon it became a game, trying to sense their energy and introducing himself to them. _Selenite_  became his favourite as he could feel things, he hadn’t felt ever. Next he picked, _Tiger Eye’s Stone_ —for prosperity and good luck. He chose the love crystal next— _Pink Opal_ and though the darkness of his closed eyes, Derek flitted though his mind’s eyes. The skin beside his eyes wrinkled when he felt a pulse of communication and then a purr—a resounding one that vibrated though him.

 

Stiles’ heart flurried, drinking in everything crystal was giving him which caused warmth to spread inside his chest and spread though every fiber of his body. All of his sense tingled without something  unknown. The pulse increased. Down and down Stiles spiraled, deeper and deeper into the clutches. His life—past, present, and future—lost all purpose the second he felt his soul mingle with Derek’s.

 

The fear he’d been missing, for god knew how long slammed into his heart.

 

Stiles quivered. He quaked.

 

Something howled deep inside with age-old knowledge.

 

Every part of him arched toward Derek, then shied away in terror.

 

It’s was too much. Too consuming. All consuming.

 

His eyes flew open as he gasped, and dropped the crystal in his lap.

 

Forcing himself to ignore everything, Stiles focused inward. Clutching his inner strength where calmness was a need rather than what Opal made him feel. Stiles close his eyes again and took deep breath letting go of the turmoil. He imagined the Garden of Eden, serene and earthy that reminded him of mother earth’s peace and strength.

 

Stiles gasped as his mind free-fell into another memory.

_“You don’t have to do this.” He shouted in exasperation._

 

_“This has to be done.” His lover threw the last bits of his clothes and zipper his bag. “I’ve have to go. Please don’t fight with me.”_

 

_“I’m not fighting. I begging you.”_

 

 _“Then don’t beg.” Came the cold-stone reply from his lover’s hard voice that_ _demanded _no argument__.

 

_My heart splintered like a broken piece of glass,_ _“I can’t let you go.”_

 

_His lover’s lips turned down in a frown before he walked over and pulled him in a light embrace. “I’m begging you. Gemin please, don’t make it anymore harder for me.”_

 

_He hiccuped though a sob and pressed his face harder in his lover’s chest. “Why? Why? Why?”_

_“Because its my job.” Strong fingers combed though his hair. He was trembling. He was hurting.“Because I’m a soldire, baby.  When duty calls I’ve to go. You knew I’d leave someday.”_

 

  _Furious. Stiles was furious and oh betrayed that he yanked himself from his lover. “Go then.” He shouted and whirled away from his love, anger made his breathing strained. “Don’t... Don’t think...”_

_“Don’t say it Stiles!” his lover ordered harshly, desperate and grabbed his elbow swing him back. “Don’t.”_

_He met his lover eyes, and clenched his teeth against the love he felt still, “...I won’t wait for you Peter.”_

Stiles felt his face drench in tears, before he even opened his eyes and release a gasp of air he was holding back. His mind clung to the unlocked memory. The fleeting recollection of his lover name.

_Peter._

 

The sense of homecoming and security that one little snippet brought was priceless. But his soul was crying, he was crying.

 

He searched inside for more clues. But it was like trying to grab on to an elusive dream, fading faster and faster the harder he chased.

 

The feeling of self-hate and devastation made his shoulders slump. What he had done in his teenage glibness? How could he do that? He had rejected his lover. Rejected their love, because he was so full of himself, because he was so selfish. God! God!God!

 

Stiles scrubbed his wet face as anger percolated in his heavy heat. And maybe so he deserved what he was getting now. He deserved everything he was getting now. He had let go of all the goodness for some teenage believe and what was left for him, was this hellhole he was leaving in.

 

Gathering so composure, Stiles picked up the pink Opal crystal, hate it and loving it all the same time, as he packed it and rest of the crystals back inside the wooden box.

 

He snuffed of the magical connection and left the box there before crawling back to his nest and pulling the cover over his head.

As he tried to rest for some time, sleep if possible, Stiles’ mind skipped straight from fumbling uncertainty into starvation for _more_. His crying soul snarled for _more_.

_Was that the last time he saw his lover—Peter?_

_Did he return safely from his duty?_

_Was he even alive?_

_Peter.Peter.Peter.Peter._ Stiles chanted the name like a mantra in his head, like a constant drumbeat in his bones, a never-ceasing rhythm demanding he found out more.

 

A headache pressed on his temples and he had to give up, diverting his thoughts to what other things he felt and saw.

 

He saw Derek. Why did he see Derek? Because their soul was bound. Or because Stiles had started to grow a twisted feeling for that man. Pink Opal is said to be the stone of love, but only to faithful lovers. Stiles scoffed.

 

He didn’t understand Derek’s concept of romance. They had not kissed. And they would never. Stiles was sure of that much. Kiss was something he couldn’t share with a brute like Derek. Sex was regular, that never stopped happening, but over the course of the week, Derek had become less forceful with his approach. He had become tender. He purred more, implementing more soft caresses, lingering touches and kisses along Stiles’ body more. But never attempted to kiss his lips. Never. Stanger man that he was, it wasn’t a surprise. Stiles thought and he rolled on his back flung the cover from his head huffing out a breath. Eccentric, volatile and wild. He had turned a kiss into a challenge of wills.

 

A cynical smile touched his lips. Perhaps instead to trying to be sane, Stiles could show the man his own skill set in craziness. The idea was enough to set him off the nest to the old book.

 

Stiles hadn’t noticed before but now that he had, he found coloured chalks, black, white candles and herbs tucked near the book.

 

He could create a Magic altar

 

Stiles sprang into action.

 

He opened the books and the very first chapter was on altar and grids. He went through the process as instructed, using the coloured chalks to draw it out on the floor. Planted the fours candles on each four corners of the altar, used his pendent as a wand, assembled the crystals accordingly in the centre and around the grid, and sat down with renewed excitement.

 

Stiles admired his handiwork and mentally patted on his back. Damn he was the _witchest_ witch of Beccan hills.

 

He looked down at Clear Quartz, setting his determination in it before straightening his spine, Stiles lifted his chin and closed his eyes letting his mind creep toward the magic.

_The door to this room is a Magic wade keeping me from Derek Hale._

 

Normally witches preferred to from rhythmic spells but for now, he kept them sort and clear. The hum of  _crystal energy_  grew stronger, and  _he_ hadn't gotten very far before  _his_  skin  _tingled_  as though  _he_ 'd just passed the last state of meditation. 

 

Breathe in. Breathe out.

 

Stiles let the Magic wind up through him, through muscles and veins, around sinews and bones, until it thrust under his skin, at ears; until he open his eyes and felt his iris expending taking over the white part. When he lifted his hand, he saw them covered in with blue unearthly glow. Stratified, Stiles stretched his hands out, palm facing the ground before he bent his fingers like they were claw and imagined himself pulling everything mother earth had for him, then winding his hand in sharp movements before thrusting them in the direction of the door.

 

A bright blue glow outlined it.

 

The impact hand his dig his feet on the floor, and he felt the slight quake under his sole.

 

The glow pulsed feeding it with Stiles’ Magic.

 

So Stiles remained in his stance, eyes narrowing, lips curling, fangs punching out of his gums until he felt the task was complete and the blue light ebbed away.

 

At once, the room became still and Magic saturating in every nook and corner. Panting, Stiles dropped his hand and swallowed hard. He needed to practise more. If he felt this drained just after wadding a simple door, then he was losing it. The thought was disconcerting to say the least and made a clod shiver slither down a terror of snake down his spine.

 

Crap!

 

Huffing out a shaky breath, Stiles looked around the room and raked his fingers though his hair. He needed to go out. His Magic was dying.

 

Stiles shook his head as he hand crept to his pendant, fingers latching around it as though it was his lifeline.

 

* * *

 

 Stiles was again sleep when he hear a distant bang and a strong pulsing in his chest. He turned on his side grumbling sleepy and tried to go back to the state of unconsciousness he was after draining himself out, but a loud crash brought his intends to a screeching halt as Stiles flew up, clutching his chest, “Oh My God.” He shrieked, and lets reconfirm he was damn manly about it. “Derek!”

 

 “Stiles!” _Bang! Bang! Bang!_ “Are you all right?” _Bang! Bang!_ “Why the door is locked!” _Bang!_ “What have you done?”

 

 And of course the asshole had to be suspicious of him. Stiles didn’t put much thought in it as he watched the metal door rattled, like a demon from hell was try to break thought it. His panicked face darted around the room as he imagined to find a baseball bat for protection, but as it was not there, he couldn’t find.

 

_Bang!_

 

 “Stiles!” Derek bellowed the metal churned and rattled some more. “Open the damn door!”

 

 “I can’t.” Stiles shouted his answer and climbed out of the nest tripping on his away and shuffled back making as much distance from the door as possible. _Bang! Bang!_ “For Godssake stop it!”

 

 “Open the door, Stiles.” Came the snarling counter.

 

 “I can’t... I—I can’t undo.” He stuttered, gulping down his panic and slapped his palm on his forehead. Shit Shit Shit!

 

 “Undo?” a questioning growl. “You wadded the door. You idiot!” a roar of confirmation. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you, you witch.”

 

 Stiles, took offense, as his natural defence. “This is why I did it.” He shouted, eyes wide, looking around for some weapon before lamely grabbing a pillow and hurling it at the door. “You lunatic! Stay away from me! I dying become of you! My magic is dying. Because of YOU!”

 

 A loud roar echoed though the door and had enough power to jar Stiles’ ears. Hands clasped on his hear appendages, his trembling knees gave out and Stiles folded to the floor.

 

 It didn’t take much long for Derek to break the wade. And Stiles felt a sharp slash of pain. His ribs bellowed, along with his head. Stiles bit back a puke facing twisting in agony. A drop of blood trickled down his nose.

 

 When Derek came crashing through, Stiles fell on his side and though his haze he saw the Alpha. He looked manic, his eyes red and wild. He stared at Stiles, his chest puffing under an undershirt. He looked a wreck, just like Stiles felt.

 

 He was quickly at Stiles’ side when their gaze locked, lifting him from the floor, and moving to the nest. A hand across his back and his butt in his lap, Derek adjust Stiles, what he felt was comfortable before wiping away the blood and patting him to see any injury.

 

 He was stupid. Stiles thought feebly as his hand looped around the Derek’s neck and his tucked his face in Derek’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

 

 “You’re excused.” The rumble was less menacing and more strained. His large hand rubbed Stiles’ back soothing. “Are you in pain?” Stiles’ lips parted to lie. “And don’t lie.”

 

 His breath hitched and he buried his face dipper. “My head and my heart.” He didn’t lie. What was there to lie? He was hurting. Truly hurting and it was not from his spell being hexed. A part of his pain came from how Derek was torturing him.

 

“Where?” He felt Derek press his cheek to the side of his head. “I can take it.”

 

 “You can’t.” Stiles sniffled before gingerly pulling not to move his head much. “It’s from breaking my ward. Not physical. I mean its physical but...”

 

 “I understood. How to heal you?”

 

Stiles shyly peered up at him, licking away the remnants of tears from his lips. “Crystals. Healing one might help.”

 

 Derek’s brows furrowed. He certainly didn’t like the uncertainty in the words, Stiles could tell. He nodded mildly and took a deep breath, gathering some calm. Then he manoeuvred them both around the nest, helping Stiles to lie down, fluffing pillows and carefully placing one under his head and tucked the other by his side. As he climbed to his feet, Derek’s eyes scanned Stiles’ lying form one last time, before turning and stalking to the box set. In a crouch, he delved in. “Which one?”

 

 “The black one.” Stiles croaked, voice was meek and feeble, just like his strength and magic.

Derek grunted picking up a get black stone and stalked back, sitting down beside Stiles and handing the crystal over. Stiles grabbed his hand before he could take it back mumbling, “Help me with your spark.” He placed the stone in on Derek’s palm. “Hold it.” He said. The inquisitive lift of Derek’s brow made him smile a little. “As we are mates, we can share our spark or magic with each other. The crystal with amplify what you’ll give. Like this you won’t be hurt and after I recharge the crystal your spark will revive.”

 His shoulders rose and fell on a heavy sigh. “And you?” he asked turning concerned green eyes onto Stiles. “Will you be hurt? By doing this?”

 

“No.” Stiles replied and covered Derek’s hand with him, trapping the crystal. “Try not to force anything. Just imagine you are siphoning my pain.” Derek nodded before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Stiles followed a second late, as his own eyes fell shut, imagining all the healing thoughts he’d had when he had tried to free the power in other healing stone. Heat simmered between their joined hands and Stiles felt the first drop of healing magic seeped though his being.

 

 He focused on the white fluttering sensation he felt when he helped Mellissa in the Omega camp. With Derek’s conduit, heat built up quickly and Alpha spark mixing with the crystal energy began its miracle.

 

The beat of Stiles’ heart slowing in tune with the rhythmic pulse of luscious power singing through him, winding its way to his heart. It spread its folds and grew outward, magnifying toward  _the magic_  of his being.

 

 The throbbing in his head and the pain in his chest began to diminish. Then its magic connected with his, igniting every cell of his body. He was flooded with its awareness and it challenged him for control; Stiles met the challenge.

 

 Then the phenomenon came like a wave to the shore, overwhelming him. It cleared the next instant and message came in fragments, juxtaposed in fleeting segments that flashed in his mind.

 

 The segments came rapid and his forehead creased while to tried to slow the images, piece them together but couldn’t. The first was a flash of a man with greying hair wearing a uniform Stiles found hard to recognise. Then next was a vision of a woman, his mistress, his guardian, whose vision he already have had. Then a girl with long curly blonde hair and body suited up in leather appeared; his friend he thought. Another wave of vision swept though his mind. Scenery of the Citadel in ruinous decay and abandonment, rusted gates, deteriorated mortars with dead foliage all about the fortress.

 

A severe cough hacked though chest causing his hand to slip as he pushed himself up on an elbow and spluttered gasping for breath before meeting Derek’s gaze.

 

 “Are you okay?” He asked reaching out maybe to touch his forehead.

 

 “No!” Stiles blurted, he had no time for affection as he pushed Derek’s reaching hand away, catching a glimpse of surprised annoyance on Derek’s face as he did so before he grabbing Derek’s hand in hast, forging back the link and driving back into the tunnel of vision.

 

 The imagine was disjoint but he could see he saw himself lying on the ground, his expression seemed fearful as his raised a hand in defense at the person hovering over him who shadow fell around him on the ground.

 

 The segments exploded and a bright white tunnel began to suck him in to unknown for what felt to be forever before abruptly spitting him back to his reality.

 

 Stiles slowly opened his eyes. He looked down and realized Derek had broken the link. “Stiles?” his muffled voice seemed to be coming from underwater. Stiles’ eyes flickered up and blinked rapidly to regain his focus. This time Derek grasped his shoulder shaking him. “What is the matter? Are you okay?”

 

 Stiles wanted to be angry. He wanted to show it but he was swimming in a heady soothing sensation. He felt intoxicated. Drunk on more than a bottle of mead blood. In short, he felt amazing, so amazing that he would become an addict. This calmness was like a drug, oozing over him, muting the sharp starkness in form of a man staring at him intently. “Stiles can you hear me?” Derek patted his cheek. “Stiles!”

 

A lazy drunken smile curled his lips.

 

 “Stiles! What did you do?”

 

Stiles consciousness slipped away and his body dropped back on the mattress lifelessly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Beta read by the wonderful Sumthinelse!   
> Cannot thank you enough!!!

“How are you feeling, Mr. Stilinski?” The man named Doctor Deaton released his wrist after getting a reading of his pulse rate.

 

“Been better,” Stiles muttered feebly, which wasn’t far from the truth. He risked a glance at the brute standing by the door with his arms crossed and a scowl that warranted mass killing.

 

The doctor produced a pen and a writing pad, before settling down in a chair. “Does your magic normally fire back?”

 

 “No.” he replied.

 

“Was it painful?”

 

 “Yes.”

 

 “Did you see anything?”

 

 “No.” Lying was becoming his second nature.

 

 “And after that, you fainted?”

 

 Stiles opened his mouth to answer but Derek interjected. “He took some of my Alpha spark to heal himself.”

 

That perked up the doctor as he looked at Derek with interest. “Did you feel anything?”

 

 Derek gave a curt nod. “His pain.”

 

 “And.”

 

 “That’s all.”

 

“Interesting.” The man wrote something on his pad. “So you’re mate-bonded if I’m not wrong.” He peered at Derek and Stiles for affirmation. They both nodded. “Hmm.” He scribbled some more before folding his pad and standing up. “The way I understand it, there are a few explanations for what happened. Mr. Stilinski’s magic is weak at the moment; it could have attacked Derek as soon as you forged the magical link, and it fed on the Alpha spark.” His gaze panned between them. He shrugged. “Or it could be Mr. Stilinski’s magic didn’t feel threatened by your spark, as you both are mate-bonded, and allowed you to help with the healing process. Those are the only two scenarios that explain what happened because it should be impossible. The Alpha spark is not magic and has no properties that could help Stiles heal the way it did. I suggest...” he looked pointedly at Derek. “...Don’t do it again. Magic is very complicated and has a mind of its own. It could be manipulative, even lethal if the witch doesn’t have control over it.”

 

“But I _have_ control.” Stiles objected. “I controlled the meshing, I projected my magic to seek out Derek’s Alpha spark, and allowed it to heal me.”

 

Deaton shook his head. “You didn’t when you asked Derek to help you. You have to understand, Derek’s Alpha spark is his core strength, and you can’t take it from him. Your magic made you think the way you did, and it made you do what you had to in order to survive. You can’t allow magic to control _you_ , Mr. Stilinski. You’re the one in control. You manipulate, you manifest, and you are its master.”

 

Stiles swallowed hard. “So you’re saying my magic is harmful?”

 

“No. What I’m saying is, like everything else, _it_ wants to survive but you should be in control. You also need to be physically strong and mentally fit to use it.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two days later Stiles was passing his time by making condensed energy water balls with the charged rainwater. He was manipulating it between his hands, and the beautiful greenish blue aura danced from one palm to other, circling in the air as he waved his hands, forming crystalline water tails as it moved. The _whoosh-whoosh_ sound was a delight to his ear after weeks of desolate quiet inside the room.

 

"Your talent is greater than I imagined."

 

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Stiles faltered, losing his concentration. The energy ball burst, splashing water on his face. “Seriously.” Stiles grouched pursing his lips on his grim, drenched face; he rested his hands on his hips and turned around. “I’m telling you this is creepy.”

 

Derek expression was bland but humor creased the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

 

“Thank you very much for that, but now I have no charged water.” Stiles sighed, exasperated and bent to wipe his face with the hem of his tunic.

 

“I can get you more.”

 

 “How long have you been there?” he asked straightening up. Derek walked over and joined him, crouching beside his magical equipment.

 

"Long enough," Derek answered, as he picked up the Amethyst from the crystal box. “Which one is this one?”

 

 “Amethyst,” Stiles replied, hesitantly.

 

“And what does it do?”

 

Stiles couldn’t see Derek’s expression as his head was turned away, examining the violet crystal. “It’s for protection mainly. Inner strength.”

 

Derek picked up another one. “And this one?” he asked, finally looking up.

 

“Tiger’s eye.”

 

“How does this one help you?”

 

“Good luck.”

 

A derisive smile curved his lips. “I guess you desperately need some.”

 

Stiles looked at him in surprise. “Why would you think so?”

 

Derek shrugged before he stood up, his gaze flickered to a palm-sized, triangular, tumbled stone. “Did you use this one the other day?”

 

Stiles hesitated a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “I tried my luck...”

 

“Which failed to keep me out of my own room,” Derek pointed out. His eyes were still on the stone and his brow started to furrow. When he spoke, his voice was calm and placid but it still made Stiles’ gut knot. “Do you know what could have happened if I couldn’t open the door.” At this question, his pale green eyes lifted and bored into Stiles’. The younger man opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t speak. He knew what could have happened. Without his magic, Stiles wouldn’t have been able to undo his own spell and the door would’ve remained locked. Derek sighed and held out the stone. “Clean them up.”

 

Nervous, Stiles took the stone, scooped up the books and the crystal box, and hurried to the closet he shared with the Alpha. He wanted them put away before the brute stepped on them or took them away. As he piled his things in his section, he heard Derek move across the room. Turning back, Stiles glanced around and found Derek standing before the nightstand where Stiles’ had left the Pink Opal.

 

Stiles’ heart skidded to a stop. _Peter! Peter! Peter!_ A voice screamed in his head as he watched Derek use the claws of his forefinger and thumb to pick it up and turn to him.

 

 “You forgot this one.” His voice was alarmingly soft.

 

Stiles stared a moment, and his stomach churned with heightened unease. Derek shouldn’t touch that stone, he thought wretchedly. Derek shouldn’t even be close to the stone. It carried the memories of his lover and one touch of the Alpha could erase everything he had stored in there.

 

When he didn’t answer, Derek approached him and held his lifeline out between his claws. Stiles’ hand automatically went out to snatch it but in the last moment, he held his palm out. He reminded himself he didn’t need to make the Alpha suspicious.

 

Derek’s eyes held a trace of amusement as if he found Stiles’ behavior endearing, and he dropped the stone into the open palm. Stiles’ finger curled around it and a pulse of energy zipped through his arm to his heart, spreading a weird kind of warmth across his chest.

 

Without another word, Stiles pivoted, trotting away from the Alpha and to the closet where he lovingly placed the stone in the box. Then he cleaned the chalk marking from the floor, snuffed out the candles, and went to the bathroom to take a quick shower. He really wanted to wash the scent of magic from his skin. The previous night, when Stiles had smelled of magic, Derek had fucked him three times in a row. Despite pleading with the Alpha to stop, he’d been left spent and replete until he could do nothing but lie still and stare at the wall.

 

When he came out, Derek was sitting on the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, and staring at him.

 

"What time is it?" Stiles asked, closing the bathroom door behind him.

 

"The sun is rising." Standing, Derek moved toward his desk. “How are you feeling?” he asked as he walked past Stiles. Their bodies brushed against each other as he went. The Alpha scent clung to him, enveloping Stiles’ senses.

 

On a deep huff, Stiles threw the towel onto the chair Derek normally used when they had dinner. “Much better.”

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Sitting like an overgrown hulk at the small desk, Derek accessed his InterCOMscreen and ignored him.

 

Stiles began his ritual pacing, a caged animal denied the room to run. Darting a glance at the back of  _his_  Alpha’s hated head, he suspected his inattention was some ruse; that at any moment he would turn around and pull out his cock. But the exclusion continued—as if the Alpha was trying to break him down, confuse him... doing it subtly until he just cracked.

 

Breathing irregularly, Stiles gnawed on his lips tearing off the dry skin.

 

_PETER!_

 

His heart still hurt, his mind desperately trying to unlock his hidden memories of his lover. He desperately wanted to know what had happened between them. Did their relationship end after the bitter farewell or did they make up?

 

"Stiles.”

 

“Yes?” he breathed heavily, shivering before looking over.

 

“Come here." The order was issued in a moderate voice; Derek hadn’t even bothered to look in his direction.

 

“I need some space right now.”

 

Sitting back in the chair, Derek finally turned his head and raked him with an all-too-perceptive gaze. "Your brooding is making you upset."

 

Why was he being reprimanded for having feelings? Normal humans who were not psychopathic murderers _had_ feelings. And normal people did not do well for weeks on end in the same fucking room with only a monster for company!

 

“I saw something.” He said trying to divert away from the conversation.

 

Derek’s eyebrows twitched into a frown. “Saw what?” His gaze swept over Stiles from head to toe, “When did you leave this room?”

 

Stiles slapped a palm on his forehead. “Seriously do you have to be suspicious of me all the time?”

 

Derek seemed to think about this question longer than Stiles expected him to before he deflected with one of his own. “Have you given me a reason not to?”

 

“That was an accident.” He groaned and shook his head. “I was only playing a prank.”

 

A strong muscular forearm rested on the chair’s armrest, and fingers flexed musingly. “Why such passionate interest? After what transpired between us, I’m surprised you would wish to lock me out of my own room rather than escape. Your motive eludes me.”

 

“I _had_ no ulterior motive.” At least not one he would share. “I was getting bored and wanted to see how strong my Magic was.”

 

 “Not strong enough,” Derek murmured. His eyes drifted back to the COMscreen as he lifted his arm, braced on the elbow, and scratched his scruffy cheek. “I suggest you don’t do that again.”

 

 Stiles’ jaw tightened. “I’m not strong enough.” But if he practiced, he would regain his original strength. “Now will you hear me out? I had visions.”

 

 Derek’s hand moved away from his cheek as his gaze flew to Stiles’ and narrowed. “You lied to Deaton?”

 

 Stiles cringed. “I didn’t want to share it with him.”

 

 “But you want to with me?” Derek pointed a finger at his own chest.

 

 Stiles didn’t know why the Alpha sounded so surprised. “Yes, because I saw things I feel I should talk with my Alpha and not with any Tom, Dick or Harry.”

 

 “Oh really? I should mark this as a development in our relationship,” Derek drawled with a sardonic tilt to his lips.

 

 Stiles rolled his eyes, “Save your sarcasm for another day,” he snapped. “Will you listen or not?”

 

“My apologies,” came the contrite reply. Derek turned in his chair staring at him with his shrewd eyes. “What did you see?”

 

 “I saw a few things. They were too fast for me to comprehend their meanings.” Stiles licked his lips nervously. “I think I saw my father. I saw a blonde girl too.” He wisely omitted the rest.

 

 Derek raised his brows. “You remember your father?”

 

 “No. I don’t remember but the guy looked like a dad.”

 

 “’The guy looked like a dad’? What guy?”

 

 Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know. When I saw him, a feeling came over me and he just _felt_ like my dad.”

 

 Derek nodded thoughtfully. “What about the blonde girl?”

 

 “I think she is or _was_ my friend.” He shrugged again.

 

 The Alpha gave another nod. “What was her name?”

 

 “I wish...” Stiles pressed his palm on his forehead fingers digging tightly on his temples for a moment before he let go and shook his head. “I don’t remember.” He sucked in a gush of air as his chest constricted. “I can’t _remember_ anything, not really. But sometimes I _see_ things.” He looked up locking his gaze with the Alpha. “When I was in the Omega camp, my nurse told me I was unconscious for over six months and I woke up like... like this.” He gestured vaguely at himself.

 

Derek kept staring at him as he spoke, and only the crease between his brows moved as they grew deeper and his eyes became searching. He spoke eventually. “Where is the camp?”

 

Stiles snorted. “I won’t be telling you that.”

 

“I could help them.”

 

“Your means of help means you trap them here and force them into estrous so your goons can use them.” He shook his head. “No. It’s better they die without food than be raped and forcefully bred by unfeeling and uncaring brutes.”

 

Derek's eyes narrowed, but his lips twitched. “You have a distorted view of our relationship.” He murmured in an amused tone. “I feed you. Take care of you. Look after you. Keep you safe from all the bastards of the streets of Beacon. I give you pleasure. I purr for you. I keep you ground—”

 

“That not what I meant,” Stiles interjected knowing he had to rectify his mistake if he ever wanted to have access to the virus. He needed to earn Derek’s trust and convince him that Stiles didn’t hate the relationship.

 

A dry smile curved Derek’s lips. “Then what did you mean?”

 

 “You told me that if you hadn’t found my scent worth killing for, that I’d have been mounted by all the others,” he began, fixing the Alpha with a cold stare. He waited, and Derek gave the barest of nods. “I’d have died from something like that.” He waited but Derek neither acknowledged, nor denied his statement. “We’re in hiding because you keep killing us.”

“Not me,” Derek began, but Stiles shook his head and sighed. He had to sell this to the Alpha.

“From what I’ve seen here, you’re the only one who seems...different.”

“Are you trying to convince me that you’ve started to care for me, Stiles?” Derek’s voice was chilly and quiet, and his face was as hard to read as ever.

Stiles knew he had to stick as closely to the truth as possible in order to get the lie to stick. He met the Alpha’s gaze and shook his head, slightly. His heart pounded an insistent  _thump, thump, thump_ as he chose his answer. He told himself over and over again:  _Stay calm, concentrate._   _You falter, he catches you. Don’t oversell it._

“No.” He let his gaze fall away before rubbing his hand over his face, tiredly. “I’m getting used to your lifestyle...and your ways. And I don’t think fighting you would make things easy for me.” He fought the urge to vent his anger and focused on the closest he could come to the truth. “I don’t want us to be miserable, that’s why I told you about the visions.”

Derek grinned in almost manic delight at that, “You words are quite compelling, little one. I might even trust you for a moment.” He gave a small shrug. “But after what you did with that door.” His pale green eyes flicked to the said door briefly. Stiles' eyes tracked the movement in the same time and he regretted his impulsive actions immensely. “I doubt I can.”

 

 Stiles hung his head. “I can only apologize for what I’ve done.” He risked a glance from under his lashes. “But my words are true. You are my mate. You should trust me.” His voice became pleading even though the word  _mate_  grated on his nerves.

 

 “And what if I don’t?”

 

 “Then I’ll be miserable.” He said. “We both will.”

 

 Derek stood up. “How desperate are you for my trust?”

 

 “Very.” This one was not a lie.

 

 “Why?”

 

 “If we’re doing this,” he flicked his finger between them, “I want some peace between us. I want to go out. I want you to trust me enough that you’ll _allow_ me to go out.”

 

 Derek’s eyes flared at him. As they flashed from pale green to a fiery red, Stiles wasn’t sure if it was out of anger or pleasure. The soothing buzz in the link gave him some reassurance as he felt his shoulders sag.

 

 “You know trust is given and taken?”

 

 He nodded as Derek’s voice urged his entire body to relax, even though his mind was an anxious mess—the effect much like that of the poppies.

 

 When he moved, his eyes narrowed on Stiles. Like an experienced predator, he slowly prowled across the room. With each step, the floor crunched beneath his booted feet, and Stiles had to admit that he found it difficult not to retreat.

 

 Stiles felt a shiver of apprehension slide up his spine while he stood in front of the man, watching his sensual green eyes look him over from his bare feet to his face.

 

 Stopping at less than a foot away, Derek reached out a hand toward his face. Stiles swallowed and held a breath as Derek’s large fingers brush against his cheek. It wasn’t more than a trace of his fingers along Stiles’ skin, but Stiles could feel his own breathing deepen as his nipples hardened

  _I want him._

 

 Stiles was profoundly disturbed at how arousing the thought was. Physically, he wanted the Alpha male with such an unexpected ferocity that he could barely stop himself from begging Derek to rip off his clothes and fuck him right where they stood.

_What the hell is the matter with me?_ Stiles clenched his jaw, tilting his face up to look Derek in the eye.

 

 “You want me to trust you, you say?” Derek asked. That deep melodic voice slid inside of Stiles and traveled down to the aroused flesh between his thighs.

 

 Stiles swallowed again. “Yes.” Then, with a little more force, he said, “Yes, I want you to trust me. That’s the only way this will work.”

 

 After waking up two days ago, Derek had forbidden him from using magic and Stiles had to beg and weep at his feet until he relented. Derek had said he was concerned that Stiles might hurt himself trying to prove something, but Stiles knew it was because he had warded the door; because he’d had enough power to put a wall between them.

 

 Derek’s eyes scrutinized his face in a way that made Stiles think he was memorizing every little thing about him.

 

 Derek traced his fingers down Stiles’ cheek, along his jawline, and finally, he slid the back of his fingers down his throat. When he reached the neck of the tunic, he pulled it down, revealing Stiles’ bare chest.

 

 Derek remembered the connection they had formed by merging his spark with Stiles’ Enchanter’s aura. It had been so deep, something Derek hadn’t ever experienced—not even with his old pack. He believed their mate bond had triggered the strong connection.

 

 Stiles had stopped talking. He was standing so still that Derek could barely tell he was breathing as he let his eyes drop to Derek’s mouth. Derek could tell his little mate was curious, but oh so cautious _._ His eyes couldn’t lie though. Stiles’ eyes were telling Derek that he wanted to fuck, and he wanted to fuck hard.

_Well, I can accommodate him_ , Derek thought as he slid his hand around behind Stiles’ neck, pulling him forward.

 

 Stiles took a stumbling step forward and his hands flew up onto Derek’s shoulders. Derek felt the boy’s nails digging into his skin for better purchase.

 

 “You wanted my trust?” he demanded.

 

 This time, Derek slid his free hand down between their bodies to cup Stiles’ sex. He watched Stiles’ mouth parted on a needy moan, and instead of answering, Stiles nodded.

 

 “After what you did two days ago, I find that hard,” Derek said, grinding his palm against Stiles’ hot pussy.

 

 “Then, how—”

 

 “Shh, little one.”

 

 Stiles brows furrowed but he complied.

 

 “Let’s compromise,” Derek murmured.

 

 Stiles’ eyes focused on his mouth as Derek stared at him, and just when Derek thought he’d want to kiss, Stiles closed his eyes gasping. His soft thighs squeezed around Derek’s hand.

“Compromise?”

 

 “An exchange of trust,” A slow smile curved Derek’s mouth as he rubbed the heel of his palm against Stiles’ clit. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Do you?”

 

The sweet, intoxicating smell of Omega arousal combined with Alpha musk wafted through the air around them. A low lazy rumble of possession vibrated in Derek’s chest. _Damn_ , he loved the heady mixture of their scent.

 

 Stiles’ eyes moved behind his closed lids, and when they opened; Derek noticed his pupils had dilated. Stiles was aroused.

 

As Derek stood there, cupping the back of his neck with one hand while his other was wedged snugly between the Omega’s thighs, Stiles moved against him like he was in heat. Derek watched his mate’s pulse flutter at the base of his throat before his eyes moved to his mate’s moist, pink lips. All he could think of was how fucking perfect they would look wrapped around his cock.

  _Perfect, plump, fuckable lips._

 

Lowering his mouth to Stiles’, Derek suggested against those very lips, “I think for you to understand romance, you have to allow me to do something.”

 

 “I’m not kissing you.” The reply came fast and breathless but lacked conviction. Derek heard when Stiles’ heart became little irregular.

_I know,_  Derek laughed to himself. He didn’t want to force a kiss on his mate, not when there were ways to get Stiles to do it on his own.

 

 “You don’t have to.” He pushed his middle finger into the warm slick cavern and ground the clit with the heel of his palm. “Taking a kiss from you is not on my list of priorities,” He lied smoothly hearing how his voice deepened. “Because I believe before romance comes seduction. I want to seduce you.”

 

 Derek felt Stiles’ breathing falter and he could not help but bit on Stiles’ quivering bottom lip. Stiles looked close to climax, like he wanted to scream for his Alpha. As Derek’s finger went dipper nudging the sensitive spot.

 

 Stiles trembled, panting softly. He said, “I don’t understand.”

_No problem._ “I want to paint you, Stiles,” Derek said, musing to himself: _I could be an honorable man._

 

 An odd look crossed Stiles’ face. “You don’t paint.”

 

 “I do.”

 

 “Oh.” Stiles looked surprised, despite his arousal. “I’ve never seen you...”

 

 “Because I was occupied in other matters. One of them was fucking you through your heat.” His crude words caused a darker flush to bloom on Stiles’ cheeks. Derek thrilled at the hesitation he witnessed as Stiles’ brain started to catch up. The boy swallowed, trying to pull away, but Derek kept him where he was with a firm grip. “No, don’t run,” he cajoled. “Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to see me painting you? Know how it feels to be vulnerable yet so powerful at the same time?”

 

 Stiles’ chest started to rise and fall quickly against Derek’s own. Moving his head so his cheek was resting against his mate’s, Derek murmured, “Don’t you want to know that intoxicating feeling of having an Alpha…” He paused as his finger and palm worked harder and faster, feeling Stiles’ juice moistens his hand. “Having  _me_ under your spell?” 

 

 “I can’t... I don’t feel comfortable.” Stiles was gasping for breath.

 

 Derek lifted his head making eye contact. “I’m your mate. You’ve nothing to feel uncomfortable about.” He stroked and pressed firmly up between Stiles’ legs. The boy tightened his thighs like a vice around Derek’s hand and wrist and pushed his hips, driving himself toward his sexual release.

 

 Pulling back slightly, Derek slid his other hand from Stiles’ neck to his hair, clutching it hard enough that his eyes popped open. “Tell me yes, Stiles,” he demanded of his Omega.

 

 Stiles’ mouth parted as Derek stroked harder. Stiles thrust his hips twice more as Derek held him captive.

 

 He had Stiles exactly where he wanted.

 

Not granting Stiles reprieve to look away, he commanded again, “Tell me yes.”

 

 Finally, those sexy lips moved, and a breathy consent slipped out of his mouth as an orgasm tore through him. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Derek let his hair go and Stiles’ head dropped on his chest. “Yes!” He moaned, his damp hot forehead rolling against Derek’s chest. “Yes! Gods please.” He body shook, his pussy pulsated and clenched around Derek’s finger.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 Stiles brushed his teeth and watched the razor glide along the underside of Derek’ neck. The shaving cream gathered against the blade as it moved down.

 

 Stiles took out the brush from his mouth before nudging past Derek and then spat the foam in the sink. He gargled and washed his face before looking back in the mirror. “Derek?” he prompted tentatively.

 

 “Huh?” Derek repeated his down stroke twice before he finished the job and wiped the blade clean on the hand towel draped over the side of the bathroom sink. As he did so his eyes shifted to Stiles’ reflection.

 

 “What do you paint?”

 

 “I used to paint portraits.” Derek leaned a little closer, examining the skin of his neck to make sure nothing had been forgotten. Nothing had been. The errant stubble on his neck and beneath his chin was gone. All that remained was the perfect stubble lining his cheeks, jaw, and lip. “Nude Portraits.”

 

 Stiles' eyebrow went up in surprise. “Nude Portraits. Wow—” he scratched the side of his head remembering pictures of nude portraits he had seen in books provided to him in the camp — “You must be very good.”

 

 “Depends on the subject.” Derek stroked his cheek and walked past him out of the bathroom, into their bedroom.

 

 Stiles followed. “Meaning?”

 

 Derek crossed to their neatly made nest where Stiles had laid out his chest armor. “It depends on what inspires me to paint.” He said as he pulled it against his chest

 

 Reaching out Stiles deftly fastened the four straps on one side. “I inspire you?”

 

 “Why do you seem surprised?” Derek stretched out his hand as Stiles went around him and did the same with the belts on the other side.

 

 Stiles shrugged a shoulder mildly. Chewing on his lower lips, he locked the last belt on the hip. “You want to paint me in the nude?”

 

 “You have a problem?” he asked instead only to confirm what Stiles had suspected. He had lain beside Derek wide-awake, even three orgasms couldn’t shut his mind down, as he’d imagined himself being painted naked by the Alpha. Or Derek painting his body, his fingers coated in vibrated colors, gliding across Stiles’ chest and down his stomach before Derek dipped his face between Stiles’ legs.

 

  _Oh, gods._

 

 Stiles’ nipples hardened into buds as heat spread out from his chest to his face, and his cheeks burned fiery hot. “Like I said yesterday, I feel uncomfortable.”

 

 Derek grasped the base of Stiles’ skull and tugged him forward. Their lips were inches away, their breath mingling, and eyes searching each others. “You asked me to trust you, and in return, I’m asking you to trust me.” He nudged Stiles’ head forward and pressed a kiss on his forehead. “Trust me to paint you, Stiles.”

 

“This is trust,” Derek growled, his hips pumping his cock into Stiles with a precise rhythm began to falter.

_This is a game,_ Stiles thought, his eyes squeezed shut as the divine torment continued; Derek skill was undeniable. Derek’s fingers wrapped around his throat jerked him back, and Stiles bore down on his dick. “Oh  _fuck_.” The word was partially choked, and Stiles thrust back pressing his ass against Derek’s hips

 

 "Yes,” Derek growled. “Now.” He bowed over Stiles, his chest heaving so forcefully it shook Stiles. Like a spring coiled too tightly, Stiles broke free with a sharp cry. His back arched, throwing his head against Derek’s shoulder and Derek moved in slow, deep strokes, drawing out his pleasure, keeping him taut and breathless and tearful beneath him.

 

 “No more . . .” Stiles cried, unable to bear another moment. He thrust his cock deep and held it there, allowing the fading ripples of Stiles orgasm to milk him. Derek sucked in a sharp breath and his knot inflated. Stiles let out a shuddering sigh as he sank face-first into his pillows. Derek groaned, a long, low, pained sound as his cock jerked inside Stiles, filling him with his seed.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Stiles knew his eyes were wide as he noticed a blank canvas attached to a wooden stand, paintbrushes, color tubes, color-smeared palate, and the man standing behind the canvas. He was again wearing a darkly toned tank and a pair of dark jeans.

 

 “Go kneel.”

 

 Wordlessly Stiles moved to their nest and knelt in the middle before looking up at the other man’s shrewd, pale-colored eyes as he licked his bottom lip.

 

 Derek tilted his head to the side. Seemingly out of nowhere, he asked, “What’s different tonight?”

 

 Stiles blinked— _It’s night already_ —he thought his brows crinkling, “Excuse me?”

 

 “What is different?” he repeated, moving toward the nest. His long legs crossed the space in no time at all. “You seem nervous. Is the idea of being painted by me making you nervous?”

 

 Swallowing hard, Stiles clasped his fingers together, fidgeting with his nails. “Maybe?”

 

 “And a little defensive.”

 

 Stiles shrugged in response.

 

 The silence that followed was unnerving, and Derek’s stare was unwavering as he stood in front of his mate. “Fine. If you don’t want to answer, take off all your clothes,” He said, wandering back to where he set up his easel.

 

 There weren’t many layers to take off, only the tunic he was allowed to wear. Without hesitation, Stiles pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. Derek had seen him naked so many times, and seen places where Stiles’ own eyes couldn’t reach, so it wasn’t much of a bother now.

 

 “What now?” Stiles sighed before glancing at the Alpha and losing few heartbeats when their gazes collided. The shrewdness in Derek’s expression had softened, diluted by primal forces. He was patiently watching Stiles with intense eyes, his lips pulled into a pensive line.

 

 “Wait.” Derek pulled his tank top off causing Stiles’ breath to falter its easy pace.  _It’s part of a game_ —Stiles reminded himself— _And I’ve got to win_   _Derek’s trust_. He watched, clenching his jaw with determination as Derek walked across the room, opening the doors of a wall cupboard. He crouched down to reach into the bottom. Stiles was so focused on Derek’s broad, muscle-rippling, glyphic back and amazing ass that he didn’t even notice what the man was doing until the whole room was swamped with a slow building hum of spiritual, tingle provoking sound.

 

 Stiles went rigid. “What is this?” he asked as Derek stood opening a password secured safe.

 

 Derek looked over. One of his eyebrows went up as he stated very calmly, “Music.”

 

 Stiles rolled his eyes. He figured the Alpha would find a way to make him feel like he had just asked a stupid question. Stiles rested his ass on his heels and tilted his head to a side as Derek pulled out a case from the safe before closing it and strolling over to him.

 

 “Apparently,  _I_ am going to trust _you_ ,” Derek said on approaching. As he lifted the lid, Stiles’ neck straightened, his gaze automatically drawn to the contents like a moth to a flame. The glinting stones dazzled his eyes, prompting them to grow wide. Derek set the box on the bed. He reached into the case, which was lined with what looks like red silk and lovingly—yes, lovingly was the only way Stiles could describe the way Derek cradled the elegant looking crown in his palm- and turned. Stiles’ greedy eyes devoured the sparkling beauty. Gingerly he reached to caress the gold edge. The crown was breathtaking, studded with sparkling diamonds around the curvature and a blood red ruby in the middle. “Here, come—”

 

 “I can’t.” Shaking his head, Stiles raised his eyes and took his hand back, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together where the crown had touched. “I can’t take this.” He didn’t want this kind of trust. It meant something beyond the game they both were playing.

 

 “I’m giving you this to pose for the portrait,” Derek said making a grab for his retreating hand.

 

 Stiles recoiled, shuffling back on his keens. “No, no, please. Something else, Derek. I can’t wear this crown.”

 

 “You will.” Derek rested a knee on the nest. Leaning in he took Stiles left hand in a firm grip and tugged him forward. Then he gripped Stiles’ chin to steady his head before setting the crown on it. It sat snug and heavy with the padded velvet band around the inside. “See, it won’t hurt you.” He teased with a soft smile.

 

 Stiles began to protest, “But Derek—”

 

 “Don’t argue.” Derek tweaked the crown a bit making sure it didn’t fall off. “There. Fits you perfect.” He took Stiles’ hands and set them on his lap, palms up. Then he touched Stiles’ cheek and tilted his face slightly before taking a few steps back. “You’re beautiful.”

 

 Stiles stared at him with wide amber eyes, trying to process what was happening with his typical humor. “I’m King Stiles the sixth.”

 

 Derek laughed, and the sound seeped into Stiles and made his chest tremble. Derek’s face transformed. White teeth flashed, hard lines giving way to pure beauty. Stiles didn’t think he’d heard the man laugh this freely before, and he’d never thought a person’s laugh could be so dangerous. But a laugh like this? It would compel a person to do almost anything to hear it again.

 

 Stiles tried not to be impressed. Tried not to like the absurd reality Derek was making him see. This was not the man he knew. He was the brute who viciously tore Beacon Hills apart, not a charmer, not a lover.

 

 As soon as the word lover crossed his mind, Stiles felt his gut churn, and he dropped his gaze to stare at his palms.  _Peter!_  Shaking away the thought of his lover, Stiles looked up. This wasn’t good. Not for his motive and most particularly not for himself.

 

 His finger itched to reach up and feel the heavy jewelry on his head. “Whose crown is this?” he asked, wondering if Derek had stolen it from someone but there were no monarchs in _any_ Dome to wear a crown, and it certainly didn’t look old or ancient.

 

 Instead of answering, with a wickedly smooth voice, Derek questioned, “Have you ever experienced passion”

 

 Stiles blinked caught off guard by the deflection. Yes, he loved his Magic, loved the power it gave him. “My Magic.”

 

 “That not what I’m talking about.”

 

 “Then what?”

 

 “Our sexual relationship.” Derek pointed at the space between them. “Regardless of how much you may hate me, being my mate, there is an intense burning need within you that wants me—even needs me. We also express passion when we are fighting each other; trying to provoke each other. But the end game is the same, you need me to make you submit.”

 

 Everything was making Stiles’ head spin. “Why are you avoiding my question?” he finally managed to push out of his mouth. “Whose crown—”

 

 Bringing up his right hand, Derek placed a silencing finger against Stiles’ lips, and Stiles could feel his heart started to beat faster. “Listen,” he breathed.

 

 Closing his mouth, Stiles listened. He suspected Derek didn’t stop him just to listen to the music. He thought it was more to keep him from asking about the crown. Keeping his eyes on Derek, Stiles watched in fascination, as they seemed to cloud over and get darker as the music built. The tempo climbed toward a breathtaking peak before it crashed over and tumbled back down to the soft strains filtering through the air.

 

Derek’s finger slid down to Stiles’ chest right over his overzealous heart. “You feel it.”

 

 Stiles nodded. His chest was hurting with the melancholy ebb and flow of the music.

 

 “That’s passion. The music is breaking your heart,” Derek leaned in and pressed a kiss on Stiles’ shoulder as the back of his fingers ran down Stiles’ chest, grazing over his sensitive nipple. “It’s provoking you. Pulling emotions out of you. You feel sadness when you listen to this ballad but you put it on replay. Listen to it, over and over and over again. Because you feel the musician’s passion.” Pulling back Derek looked him in his glazed over, amber eyes and his fingers clutched around Stiles’ hips. “I feel passion. I feel _your_ passion. This need you have that you always try to suppress, but it bursts out when I touch you. When your body moves with mine, sings my body’s rhythm when I’m inside you. Fucking you.”

 

 Stiles was shaking. Breathing hard. Falling apart. He didn’t know what games he was playing anymore. The trust game or the romance one. This man before him seemed to find a way to make Stiles crazy with need. Sexually. Emotionally. Stiles wanted to shake his head like a dog to get his bearings together. But he feared that it would toss the crown off his head and damage the precious thing.

 

“You seem different too,” Stiles whispered. “Were you in love before?” And he had no idea why he’d even asked that.

 

 A silence stretched between them as the weight of his words floated across the air. “Interesting question.” Derek turned and walked away. Forcing distance between them.  _Hate and Want_ —Stiles mused staring at Derek as he went to easel— _I hate him but I want him._

 

 “How do I seem different?”

 

 “The way you’re talking, you seem…” His eyes flicked to Derek’s face. “happy.”

 

 Derek acknowledged that with a nod. He explained simply, “I was happy, happier than I had ever been. I guess it showed when...” He paused and asked, “What do I seem to be now?”

 

 Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Angry,”

 

 Picking up his brush from the easel, Derek focused on the canvas. “I’m angry. Sometimes.”

 

 “Always.”

 

 Derek laughed quietly. “Sometimes. Now don’t move. You can talk but try not to distract me with your body.”

_Your body._  It sounded illicit. Filthy even. Heat flooded every limb, but something else, too. Something that made Stiles’ spine go straighter and his core clench. Derek’s gaze flew back and his nostrils flared, scenting the air before he smirked. An expression so close yet so far from a smile that Stiles’ chest hurt from it. Everything went liquid hot. His insides pounded, warm and fluttery, yet also heavy.

 

 Reaching the canvas with the brush, Derek began to stroke it on the blank surface.

 

 Stiles thought about Peter. His lover...What did they call past lovers? Z, Y, X. Yes, ex-lover. His ex-lover. He thought about how he felt whenever he had  _his_ visions. The feeling was familiar to how and what he felt during and after having an orgasm. “Have you ever had a moment of passion that was so deep and so fucking perfect that you know you’ll never have it again?” he asked out loud. That was how he felt with Peter.

 

Derek’s eyes moved to him before shifting back. “Have you?” he countered. His brush kept working.

 

 Lie fell smoothly off Stiles’ tongue. “No. _Have_ you?”

 

 “Yes.”

 

 Stiles felt his forehead crease. The answer did something unwelcome to him. His shoulders dropped, heart rate slowed and brought a feeling in his chest.

 

 Constricting. Tightening. Uneasiness.

 

 What was it?

 

 Their bond hummed sending a sensation down Stiles’ spine and prompted him to look at the culprit accusingly. “You tricked me.” He blurted. “What did I feel?”

 

 That’s when Derek attacked him with a seductive grin. “Jealousy.”

 

 It confused Stiles. “Why would I be jealous?”

 

 “The idea of having to share my passion with someone else is not something you like.”

 

 Stiles tensed, his heart stumbled before quickening its pace. “Why will...” he mistakenly tilted his head and almost dropped the crown. His hand shot up stopping it from falling and gingerly righted it on his head. “Sorry I just...”

 

 “It’s all right.”

 

 Stiles took a deep breath. “That's not true. I’m not jealous. The idea may be a little unsettling for me because I’m your mate, but I get it if you have other lovers.” Looking down at his lap and open palms resting on his knees, he swallowed, jaw clenching. “Alpha’s have needs and sometimes, I might not be available or even be too ill to spread my legs for you. At times like those, you may seek someone else. I get it.” his voice was quiet but cold and the chill seeped into his heart, freezing it.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading.  
> Leave Kudos and Comments if you find my work worthy.  
> And if you have come across any mistake: typos, spells and grammar please let me know.


End file.
